Hordes of the Rock, Linvale, September 1013
Part 1 In the weeks following the tournament at Valrose, Sinthaster had recruited many soldiers to his cause. He was given an initial squadron of 70 Gildorian soldiers from Nashuss Khal with several hundred more joining them over the next few days. Many of the fighters of Valrose were also swayed to join Sinthaster’s cause, whether it was for money, loyalties, or boredom. Among those now in Sinthaster’s company were Shamus of the Laughing Skulls, Lady Calicana the Phoenix, and Aurilus the Wanderer. Sinthaster’s forces now numbered nearly 400. “What is the date, soldier?” “September 27th, my lord Sinthaster.” The two men stood at attention atop a wooded hill. Their eyes were fixed on the approaching scouting party returning from their rounds. “Wolfeater will do, soldier. What is your name and rank?” “Deagro Antiloch, sir, captain of Gildor. I serve alongside Frederick Tywar.” “Frederick is the one I usually converse with. Where is he this fine evening?” “He volunteered to train some of the younger soldiers in swordplay. I can fetch him for you, should you prefer his company.” “Are you subservient to him, Deagro?” “Yes sir, I am second captain, he is first.” “Well then by all means, stay. And feel free to spill some dirt on your commanding officer.” “Sir?” “Don’t be so formal. I too am a second captain, though the title has slightly different meaning in the Darkmoon Saints. In a way, we are the same rank.” “With all due respect, sir, I thought Wolfeater was the leader of the Darkmoon Saints…” Sinthaster laughed aloud, “Oh Seven, no. There are three ‘arms’ of service in the Darkmoon Saints, known as legions, though centuries ago there were as many as eleven. Each legion is headed by a Captain, and each Captain is subservient to the Judges, of which there are five. I am the leader of the second legion, thus, second captain. There are other branches of the Darkmoon as well: workers, miners, traders, diplomats and so forth. How did you ever get the impression that I was their leader?” “Well sir, you are the only Darkmoon I know about, and the manner in which you wave your gold around, I simply assumed.” “I can see why, I may be second captain but, as of now, I have no troops to command. The second legion of the Darkmoon only has one member, as it were.” “That’s because of Sirfung, correct?” Sinthaster stared into the fading sun. “Yes, Sirfung.” He grew silent. “My lord?” “Wolfeater, Deagro, Wolfeater. Reunite with Frederick, I would talk in private with the scouting party.” As Deagro moved down the backside of the hill, several men on horseback drew close. One clad in red rags approached Sinthaster, forming a half-hearted salute before the Darkmoon. “Scout’s confirm that Frogock’s forces have moved to the valley below us, Sinthaster.” “Excellent work, Stormcrow. The orcs are exactly where we need them to be. Perhaps your clan of vagabonds has some potential after all.” Shamus scoffed, “I will pretend I didn’t hear that. My clan is stronger than you may believe, Wolfeater!” “I am sure that your clan is formidable, relatively speaking. I do not pretend otherwise. It is clear, however, that your memory is as frail as your sword arm. Forget your place again and it will be the last mistake you ever make. Do not forget; the Darkmoon paid your clan well for their services, but that does not mean we are willing to tolerate the sassy mouth of a clan rat.” “You speak as though your brethren are here with us now. You are the only Darkmoon Saint among us, Sin. Do not forget that either. The forest is our shield, the darkness our weapon. We yield to no one.” “Except for gold.” “What?” Sinthaster laughed. “Forests can be hacked and burned; darkness flees in the light of judgment. Your powers are earthly, mine are divine. You serve gold, I serve the Seven. Tell me, which melts in a flame? Which one guides your soul after you die?” “Which one can you prove is real?” Shamus retorted. “Fair enough. Go and rouse the men, we have battle to attend to. We attack within the hour.” As Shamus disappeared into the darkness, Aurilus approached on horseback. “What news from the eastern watch, Aurilus?” He dismounted his horse; he held aloft a large axe in his hand, orcish in origin. He threw it on the ground, seemingly disgusted by its design. “Orc scouts, though we intercepted them. We believe they were moving to regroup with Frogock’s central command.” “Any sign of him? The Laughing Skulls saw nothing of the cheery fellow, so I hope he was amongst those slain.” “Sorry to disappoint, but no. There have been no signs of the orcish commander. Shall I send out another squad to scout, preferably one that doesn’t have me in it?” “No, that’s quite alright. We need everyone here, the troops are about to move out. You can, however, find me a drink.” Aurilus moaned, “A drink? Now? Sir, the Elves will arrive within the hour, and then it’s off to battle. I do not think that you should-” “Make that two drinks. Both of my hands are empty, so, why the hell not?” “Shall I fetch a wench as well?” “Did we bring any? I didn’t have room to pack one. Go steal someone else’s and say it’s for the good of humanity: my humanity. Now, onward!” Part 2 It was nearly dark when the Elves of Linvale appeared in the war tent. Three of them, all female, had arrived swiftly and silently. Few had even noticed they had entered the pavilion until one spoke. The first spoke, her face concealed in the shadow of her cloak. “Where is the commander of these forces, Sinthaster the Wolfeater?” Behind a large table adorned with maps sat a hunched figure. He sprang to life, slamming his fists on the table. “My dear ladies! Glad to make your acshwaintences! I am Sinthaster, a drinking Saint with a Darkmoon problem!” “Dear me, he’s drunk…” Aurilus said, hiding his face from the Elven envoys. He stood behind Sinthaster, attending to duties far exceeding his rank. “You are the commander?” “Indeed, m’ladies. Allow me to demonstrate my incredible knowledge of combat tactics and strategy. You, soldier! The one with the lance! Come here a moment and partake of my demonstration.” As the reluctant soldier approached, Sinthaster motioned for him to stand to the right of the chair that Sinthaster sat in. “Now behold!” Sinthaster said. He spun and delivered a vicious left hook to the soldier’s abdomen. The soldier gasped and fell, though Sinthaster did the same, banging his elbow on the table on the return. The Elven women looked baffled, the first among them asking, “Are you well, my lord?” Sinthaster stood, the soldier’s lance now in his hand. “And just like that, I have defeated my enemy and stolen his lance.” “You are indeed impressive, Sinthaster, but may we get on to business?” Sinthaster stood a moment, observing his surroundings. “If you are not me or an elf, leave the tent at once! This is now a private discussion!” Outside the tent, Aurilus ate a small bowl of stew. Darkness was slowly settling over the forest. Soldiers scurried across the campsite readying their weapons and armor; the soldiers of Gildor, meticulous as they were, had not yet adjusted to sharing space with mercenaries. The loud roar or grinding metal and marching boots echoed throughout the forest, and it amazed Aurilus that the orcs were not already among their numbers attacking. Calicana appeared, her sword at her side, and stood before Aurilus. “You should prepare for battle. Sinthaster will have us marching on the orc encampment very soon.” “Sinthaster will not be doing anything; the Elves will see his incompetence and withdraw their aid.” “You do not trust the captain?” “Do you?” “It’s hard, but what other choice do I have? Sometimes all one can do is trust. The facts are very conflicting, I know. I have heard that Sinthaster is a great fighter on the battlefield and that his tactical genius is even greater still. But I have not seen any of it. I suppose you could say it is faith.” “I do not know of this ‘faith’. If Sinthaster manages to slay one enemy before requiring an intake of alcohol then I’ll take it all back. This is, of course, assuming he fights with us at all. The man is a drunken pervert.” “That is true, but where is it written that a drunken pervert cannot fight well? I’m just wondering why Sinthaster is leading a squad of Gildorian soldiers in the first place. What does the Duke want from the Elves?” The sound of tent flaps alerted the two. They turned their heads to see Sinthaster, covered in battle armor, exiting the tent. Behind him were the three Elven women, their weapons drawn and their stoicism gleaming. “Aurilus,” Sinthaster began. “Give the signal. We march for the valley.” “Y-yes sir…” Aurilus sprinted for his supplies, catching the grin that Calicana shot him as he passed. Sinthaster, Elven envoy in tow, marched to the front of the battlements. Soldiers and mercenaries were now lined up, swords and spears ready for battle. Their faces spoke of indifference: a casual normality to the whole ordeal. “Soldiers!” Sinthaster spoke, the drunken tilt gone from his walk. “How dare you?” He drew his weapons and clashed his sword and shield together. “Do you know what you are fighting this night? You don’t even comprehend the danger, do you? Let me explain.” Sinthaster grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it towards the front lines. Instinctively, soldiers evaded the throw. “There you have it. That’s the difference.” Confused soldiers questioned the Captain. “What, still too opaque for you? I’ll elaborate. Raise your weapons if any of you have combatted humans before, even under controlled training circumstances.” Hundreds of weapons rose into the air, every single soldier raising their sword or spear. “Good, now how many of you have fought orcs?” Hundreds of weapons fell. Merely a handful remained. “Let me make this clear: when you throw a rock at a human, they move out of the way. When you thrust a sword or spear or arrowhead towards them, they attempt to move around it. Orcs do not. You shove your spear through an orc and it will continue to fight. They are like insects: they swarm you and refuse to die. Cut off their legs, they drag their stumps by their hands. Cleave their arms, the use their teeth. These are not humans. Forget that for even one moment, and I cannot promise you will return.” Sinthaster grabbed his sword tightly. “When you hit an orc,” he swung his sword straight into the base of a nearby tree, sending bark flying into the air, “…hit them hard.” Sinthaster ripped his sword from the bark and pointed it at the soldiers before him. “Who amongst you can hit hard? Who here has the strength to fell an orc with one swoop? You have all been paid to show me how hard you can hit! That is why you are here! Time and time again you have labored behind screaming metal, felling whoever stands before you. Will you now yield to a yipping sub-race? How dare you?!” He raised his sword into the air. “Soldiers, who is stronger; orcs, or Men?!” The soldiers’ voices united in a furious answer, “Men!” “And who will be victorious this night?!” “Men!” “Then prove it! We move now!” The human horde moved into the brush, their weapons now hungry for battle. Their excitement soon turned to the silence of a hungry predator; 400 soldiers now moved swiftly and silently through the outskirts of Linvale towards their unsuspecting prey. “You impress me, Sinthaster.” The lead elven envoy spoke. “I have never seen a man so swiftly sober up to lead his men.” “Oh I assure you, I am still very drunk, Húleth. Can’t swing straight unless I’ve had a pint of poison.” Húleth let out a small giggle. “And you are by far one of the most upfront men I have ever seen as well. Flirting with not just one but three Elven warriors?” “If I let a chance like that escape me, I would never forgive myself. I am a man of honor, after all, and what honor is there in refusing to lay a compliment amongst fine women?” “After this battle is over, perhaps we could exchange more compliments?” “It would be my pleasure.” Part 3 The orcs had little time to react; the forces of Sinthaster barreled into the orcish conclave like a tidal wave. Orcs ran screaming into the darkness as men flashed their swords through the night air, cleaving flesh and bone. The first wave was quickly halted, however, as the orcs began to regroup. In their guttural black speech the orcish commanders screeched out battle formations, and soon, the forces of men were evenly matched. Horns began to blow in the night air as the battle raged. Leading the charge was Sinthaster and his men, drenched deep in the thick of battle. Sinthaster struck down a foe across the skull. He turned to Shamus, his sword wedged into the chest cavity of a defenseless orc. “Shamus, run the outer left flank and bring me the head of the orcish hornblower. There, upon the hilltop. Do you see?” “With all due respect commander, but are you crazy?” “You’d be amazed at how often crazy can win a battle. Aurilus! Accompany the Stormcrow and bring me that head. Or horn. Really, either works. Both would be preferable.” Aurilus traded out his sword for his bow. “Aye commander!” Aurilus paused a moment to line up his shot and let an arrow fly. The hornblowers nasal cavity soon became a snug resting place for the arrow, causing his body to crumple. Shamus ascended the hill, avoiding the bloodthirsty axes of the orcish foes, to retrieve the horn. In one fluid motion he scooped it into his arms and hurled it towards Sinthaster, who clove the horn in twain with his drawn sword. “That’s how you make a statement!” He sheathed his sword, the surrounding area now dominated by the victorious forces of men. Calicana approached from behind, her left arm covered in blood. “Calicana, are you injured?” Sinthaster spoke, moving to examine her arm. “Hardly, just upset. This blood belongs to an orcish archer, one that apparently was 120 percent pressurized blood. What of the others?” “No time to count our dead yet, we still have orcs to-” Calicana threw her sword past Sinthaster’s head, felling a hidden assassin from behind. The orc gurgled in pain, allowing Sinthaster time to spin and bash its ugly face to smithereens. “-kill. Thank you, I’m glad I kept you around.” Calicana nodded and retreated to the rear of the assault party, along with Shamus and his entourage. Soon the clearing was emptied of orcs; the battle had ended quickly and with little resistance. “Well done, Sinthaster,” crooned Húleth, her elven warriors in tow. “Your combat skills speak for themselves. The Silver Lady will be pleased with the progress you have made here this night.” Aurilus approached, cleaning his blade with a rag. “Not to dismay you, but it was a small victory at best.” “Aurilus, show respect. You are addressing Húleth of Linvale, an elven warrior of incredible caliber.” “Yes, well, hello. That being said, it’s still a small victory. Frogock and his main forces were not here. If anything, we merely put a dent in his followers.” Húleth nodded in agreement. “True, but victory is still a step forward. It would also seem, my Lord Sinthaster, that new allies await in the wings. I would like for you to return your men to camp, but you will accompany us separately.” “…To where, may I inquire?” “Lindala, to speak with our Elders. Your success this night will do you much good in your quest.” “Very well; Calicana shall accompany me. Aurilus, relay that message to her. You will maintain camp affairs in my absence. Leave combat tactics to the Gildorian captains. Now, Húleth, lead the way.” Nex looking dapper.jpg Kissing Sin.jpg Hordes 5.jpg Hordes 4.jpg Hordes 3.jpg Hordes 2.jpg Hordes 1.jpg Notable Achievements - First tested and played Hordes of the Rock game mode. Very well recieved - First character photo shoots done - First event where outcome of battle influenced lore - First event where Laulterec did not throw his hammer in rage Previous Chapter - Tournament of Champions, Valrose, June 1013 Next Chapter - Trials of the Wolfeater: Battle at White Fort, July 1014 Category:World Lore